


Faded to be Together

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Series: My Main Timeline [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Chronology, F/M, Love, Slow Burn, hella slow burn, life story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-04-12 00:35:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: (Previously titled "The Life Story of Inquisitor Alena Fanellis")This is the life story of my mage Lavellan Inquisitor, Alena, and the eventual romance between her and one Cullen Stanton Rutherford after he keeps managing to pop up in her life. This story spans the plots of all three Dragon Age games, including her connections to my original Warden (Missella Surana) and Hawke (Belladonna.)This is the same Inquisitor as the one that features in my already-published Cullen fluff fic, The Perfect Moment. I only just recently decided to turn this into such an in-depth story. The Warden is featured in my Zevran fluff fic "Estamos Enamorados, No?" And the Hawke is featured in my Varric x Hawke fic "A Reunion" which is also a multi-chapter wip that will coincide with this story eventually.





	1. Jail Break

The morning of the second day of Umbralis in the year Dragon 9:13 began quietly for many denizens of the city of Redcliffe. The baker awoke with the rising sun and began kneading his dough, the chantry mothers were rising to go about their daily chores of worship, the town drunk was stumbling home from the tavern. Everything was business as usual, a basic, provincial life for everybody. Well, nearly everybody.

In an apartment above the general goods store, Nelen Fanelis was pacing outside the bedroom where his wife Adalle was currently giving birth with the assistance of a chantry lay sister and the town’s healer. To the ignorant eye, Nelen’s nervousness could be written off as just concern for his wife and child’s wellbeing. And though that certainly was on his mind, there was another fear taking residence in his mind. Childbirth is never an easy thing, despite what some men try to say. But childbirth for a mage is risky in many different ways, the least of which is the mental strength required to keep one’s powers in check through the strain, the pain, all of it. Nelen had wanted to go away, to find some remote place deep in the wilds where no one could find them so Adalle wouldn’t have to worry, but she’d not hear of it. If he’d had one more week to try to persuade her, he might’ve accomplished it, but it seemed the Maker had other plans for them. For now, it was all he could do to pace and pray that nothing should go wrong, especially with the lay sister taking part in it. One tiny flicker of the fire and everything Nelen had ever and would ever love in this world would be taken from him before he could say, “Andraste.”

Eight hours. Nelen was nothing if not a puddle of nerves by the time Adalle’s groans of discomfort turned into a full-blown scream. And then silence. Nelen’s heart was pounding in his ears. He was afraid to breathe for fear of bringing his deepest fears to life. She was hurt. The baby was hurt. A spell had been cast. They’d been made. It’s over. Their life is over. It—

“It’s a girl.”

Nelen spun on his heel to turn towards the door where the lay sister was standing, exhausted but smiling. “It…” His hand went to his mouth, covering the giant, relieved grin.

The sister nodded and stepped aside, gesturing to let him in. Tears sprung to his eyes and his heart soared as he saw his wife, resting against the head of the bed, a bundle of blankets nestled in her arms. She was exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, face paler, but the way she was looking down at the baby was picturesque. Hesitantly, Nelen inched over to her and sat on the side of the bed, and Adalle smiled at him. She moved the blanket away from the baby’s face, and Nelen couldn’t help but gasp. He’d been afraid the baby might be ugly, disformed, and a vain part of him feared she’d have inherited his awkwardly shaped ears. But no. She was beautiful, so much like her mother already, with the same large silver eyes and a dusting of snowy white hair atop her head. Thank the Maker, she’d also gotten her mother’s ears it seemed. “D’you want to hold her, love?” He looked up at his wife, swallowed hard, and nodded, hesitantly reaching out for the babe. The passing was awkward, Nelen far too terrified for it to be smooth, but eventually he was holding her, the world around him dissolving away. It was just the three of them now, Nelen, Adalle, and, “Alena.”

He glanced at his wife again then smiled. “Alena.” A gentle thumb brushed her hair off her forehead, soon to be replaced by his lips. “Our little Alena.”

And for the next five years, life in Redcliffe was picturesque. Alena had grown into quite the little lady, the spitting image of her mother with the same wide silver eyes and the same luscious curly snow-white hair. The one thing in her appearance that connected her to her father was the nose. On a child, it was almost comically large, but it was easy to see how well it would suit her when she was grown. To say little Alena Fanelis was beloved in the town would be an understatement. Even the hardassed Guard Captain from Redcliffe Castle would offer her a candy on the rare occasions he would pass through town. While Adalle was minding the store and Nelen was hard at work in the field just outside of town, Alena was running about with the other children, wreaking innocent havoc about town, ruffling the skirts of the Chantry mothers, rolling down the hillsides. She’d had exactly 0 worries or fears for her life.

The same could not be said for Adalle and Nelen.

It was a crisp summer night, the year Alena was due to turn six. She’d risen from bed to seek out her parents to complain of an upset tummy but stopped short at the doorway to the family room when the sound of angry whispering reached her ears. She’d never heard her parents even remotely upset before, save for the time she’d accidentally run into the Reverend Mother while playing.

“—uproot our lives!” Her mother sounded distraught, even offended.

“And what’ll happen when she sets fire to something? It’s only a matter of time before she manifests her powers if she has them.” Powers?

“She’s _five_ , Nelen. I didn’t cast my first spell until I was seventeen. We have plenty of time to prepare. And besides, there’s no guarantee she’ll even be a mage.”

“Adalle, my love, we both know it’s far more likely she will be. In your entire family, only your father isn’t. Even my sister was a mage, and we both know how that ended for her.” Alena’s ear twitched as she listened. She’d heard of her Aunt Fivra on a few occasions. Fivra had been a kind woman, and though she was three years older than Nelen, the two of them had been ridiculously close when they were children, but that was it. Alena had never been able to meet her. “And besides, it’s not uncommon for children as young as she is to display powers. It could be as soon as tomorrow!”

“You’re too paranoid, dear. It will be years before we know. What happened to Fivra won’t happen to Alena.”

“You’re right. It won’t. Because I’d rather die than see my little girl turned Tranquil.”

Alena sneezed then, and before she had time to scurry away, the door was thrown open. Adalle was looking down at her, her crystal eyes wide with surprise. They quickly softened, and Adalle squatted down to her level. “Sweetie, what are you doing out of bed?”

Alena’s eyes filled with tears, and she sniffled. “Trouble?”

“No, no, honey. You’re not in trouble. Mommy and Daddy were just having a grown-up discussion.” Adalle looked over her shoulder at Nelen who was looking beside himself. She gave Alena a small smile before scooping her up and carrying her back to bed.

Alena had forgotten the conversation she’d overheard almost instantly. Like all children her age, she had no time for such unpleasantness in her life. She had far more important things to worry about, chiefly among them being the discovery of a nug burrow a short ways away from the field where her father worked. Then it was the birth of a calf down the road. Finally, the blacksmith’s wife bought a dozen hens for eggs to sell. Alena nearly couldn’t take it! She spent many hours a week just sitting on the fence to the hen yard, watching the little ladies cluck about. The blacksmith’s wife even let her name them which to Alena was the world’s highest honor. She’d taken it into serious consideration, analyzing each and every chicken to determine her primary attributes and personality which all the adults in her life thought was simply adorable. Finally, after two weeks, she’d finally made her decision and introduced each hen to their owner as if presenting a newborn baby to her. She’d saved the best for last, a Mrs. Ruffle Bottom, Alena’s personal favorite owing to her penchant to race across the pen and the way her tail feathers grew in wavy.

With one month to her birthday, the prospect of Mrs. Ruffle Bottom being named Alena’s own personal chicken had been tossed around, and Alena was quite frankly over the moon. Of course, she was taking it quite seriously. She’d already talked about how well she’d take care of her, even asking her mother if she could have some string to make a leash so she could walk the chicken about town.

And then Mrs. Ruffle Bottom got out of the yard one overcast morning. Alena had been asked to gather the eggs, and ever the optimistic runt, she’d jumped at the opportunity. Unfortunately, she’d not tied the gate shut tightly enough so Mrs. Ruffle Bottom, an opportunist by nature, had taken the opportunity to make a break for it.

The whole of Redcliffe could hear Alena’s screeching, and a few curious heads poked out their windows to see the girl sprinting after the beelining chicken. Nelen and Adalle, on their way to the market, paused to watch, bemused smiles on their faces. Alena, in a fit of desperation, reached to grab the chicken.

And the smiles of all onlookers were replaced with looks of horror, and a heavy silence filled the square.

Mrs. Ruffle Bottom, the poor thing, found herself inexplicably encased in a block of ice. Alena stood over the chicken, wide-eyed, confused and disturbed.

Directly outside the Chantry.

Adalle screamed a heart shattering, “No!” and tried to run to her daughter, to protect her from the templars who had born witness to the event, but Nelen held her back. Alena turned to look at her parents, bewildered at her mother’s cries and the pure and utter despair on her father’s face before the gauntleted hands were on her arms. Villagers had begun to gather around, some of them looking horrified, some of them leaning in to whisper to one another as they cast glances at her, and one of Adalle’s friends had come to help Nelen hold the woman back. Alena screamed and struggled against the templar’s hands, tears already streaming down her eyes as she called for her parents to help her. Adalle was screaming, too, struggling against her husband’s firm grip, shrieking, “Get your hands off my baby!”

The last thing Alena saw as the templars dragged her away was Nelen holding a sobbing, shrieking Adalle, the two of them kneeling in the dirt, watching their baby be taken from them.

The journey to the Circle took a little more than a day, and neither of Alena’s captors had bothered to say anything more than a, “be silent,” to her. As the Circle came into sight, Alena was sent into a whole new wave of panic because part of her knew, even as young as she was, that she would never be allowed to leave such a place. Unfortunately for her, the two trained soldiers escorting her were far stronger than any near-six-year-old.

The doors to the tower were huge, even more so to a child. Once inside, she was practically tossed onto a chair in a corner, one of her captors standing guard while the other talked with a large, impending wall of a man with unkind eyes. After a few minutes, those same unkind eyes flickered over to her, almost pinning her under the weight of disgust within them.

“Fetch the First Enchanter,” he grumbled. One of the other men standing about was quick to scurry out of the room. The scary man dismissed the captor and stalked his way over to where Alena was sitting. The other captor stepped aside with a fist to his chest and a nod. Alena swallowed hard as she craned her head to look up at the man who was scowling down at her. “What’s your name?” When she refused to say, he almost growled and repeated the question through gritted teeth. When, again, she refused to answer, he shook his head in disgust and pointed a threatening finger down at her. “You’ll speak when spoken to, cur.”

“That’s quite enough, Greagoir.” The scowl on the scary man’s face deepened before he turned to look at who spoke. Alena peeked out from behind him to look, too. It was an old man, older than any man Alena had ever seen in her short life. He saw her peeking and offered her a small smile. “Hello there, little one.” Alena squeaked at the address and hid back behind the scary man. The old man chuckled softly then addressed the scary one again. “She’s just a child, Greagoir. I’ll take it from here, if it please.”

The scary man—Greagoir—scoffed but stepped away. “Not worth my time, anyhow.”

The old man rolled his eyes but stepped closer to Alena, keeping a respectful distance which Alena liked. He was far less assuming than any of the templars had been, and she liked his funny dress. He smiled down at her, his hands clasped in front of him. “I am Grand Enchanter Irving. Would you like to come with me? I have some good candies in my office.”

Alena’s ear twitched, and she glanced over at the cluster of templars in the corner playing cards. She looked back at Irving and nodded slightly.

His smile widened, and he stepped aside with a sweeping gesture for her to come with him. She clambered out of the chair and followed close to him, watching Greagoir and the other templars with a wary eye. Irving didn’t press for information from her or reach for her in any way. The tower was huge and dizzying in its construction, just circles upon circles. They passed a lot of people on their way, all of them dressed in silly dresses like Irving wore. A few of them looked sad upon seeing her, but a few smiled and waved. There were even a few children there, though most were older than her. Finally, they came to a large room with a lot of books in it, and Alena paused in the doorway. Irving walked over to a large desk and took a seat behind it before giving her a gentle smile. “Please, sit.” He waved to a large, plush chair sitting in front of his desk. Alena looked over her shoulder, wondering if she could remember the way out of this place. Irving’s voice was sad when he said, “I’m afraid you wouldn’t get very far, my child. Come, we have much to discuss.”

A fresh wave of tears filled her eyes, but she obeyed, shuffling to the chair. It took her a minute to get settled in it, large as it was. “I wanna go home,” she whispered.

Irving frowned down at his hands folded on his desk. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my dear. You see, you’ve been brought here because you have demonstrated some magical abilities. Do you know what they were?”

“Mrs. Ruffle Bottom…” She paused to sniffle and wipe at her eyes. “She got frozen.”

“Mrs… Ruffle Bottom?”

“My very favoritest hen. Mrs. Owen let me name the chickens. She was gonna give me Mrs. Ruffle Bottom for my birthday. But she ran away.”

Irving nodded solemnly. “And you chased her, I presume?” At her affirmation, he sighed softly. “Well, it does not matter now.” He gestured to the table beside her. “Please, have a candy. You’ll feel better.” She looked at the bowl but shook her head. “No matter. We’ll get started then, shall we? This place is known as Kinloch Hold, more commonly The Circle of Fereldan…”

Xxx

The next ten years came and went as they do for many poor sods who live in the Circle:  as one long, endless day. Repetitive. Chores, breakfast, studies, lunch, studies, bed, chores, breakfast. Day in and out with very little variation. The only variation came with new students. They came every few weeks or so with surprising regularity, like the tide. Just as consistent as the new recruits was Anders. She liked him, thought of him as a sort of older brother. He gave her sweets when nobody was looking, and he protected her from some of the more…unpleasant templars. He’d made about half a dozen escape attempts in her time in the Circle, save for the two years when Karl had been around. It broke Alena’s heart to see how saddened by Karl’s transfer Anders had been, though she never quite understood his affection for the older man. He’d tried to make a run for it just after Karl had been taken, though it had gotten him nowhere.

This last attempt had put him in a year-long stint in solitary confinement, but she had found a way to sneak in and see him a few times, bringing him sweets of her own. Though she was far too smart to ever admit it to anyone else, Anders gave her hope. The fact that he still hadn’t given up, hadn’t relented to his fated cage was inspirational to her. She’d lie awake at night, dreaming of the day when she and Anders would finally escape together. They’d go to some small town no one, especially the Chantry, had ever heard of, and they’d get small houses next to each other. She’d learn to cook and bake and have him over every day for dinner. They’d most likely find love and get married, and Anders would have a ton of kids she would get to play Auntie Alena for, but she’d have none of her own. She’d have animals galore, from cats to cows to pigs. No chickens, though. Once or twice she’d entertained the idea that rather than finding love elsewhere, Anders might marry her. She’d considered the idea of being involved with him before. He was quite handsome, after all, but it never felt quite right. He was far too old for her, for one, and their relationship was and would be far better suited as friends (even siblings) than as lovers. She had no idea how he felt about that estimation, but he’d never made a pass at her, so she felt secure that he felt the same, and she was thankful for that. She couldn’t imagine her life without him in it.

Anders was not the only friend she’d made in her time in the Circle, though he was undoubtedly the best. When he was unavailable to her, she could be found spending her time with Missella, another white-haired, silver-eyed elf. She was a few years older than Alena, just recently having turned 20 years of age. People kept getting the two of the mixed up despite the fact that beyond the hair and eye colors they looked nothing alike. Alena was three inches taller, had much lighter skin, completely different shaped ears, smaller breasts, and her hair was wild and curly whereas Missella’s was perfect and straight. To settle things, Alena relented and colored her hair a chestnut-y brown. It had bothered her, at first, feeling like a sort of betrayal to her memories of her mother, but she’d grown to like it soon enough. Even Irving had noticed and made a point to compliment her on it, which surprised her. Anders had scolded her, insisting that she shouldn’t change herself to make other people’s lives easier, but she knew he was coming from a place of love. It was worth it, really, because she no longer had to see the disappointment in people’s eyes when they realized it was her and not Missella, who was more widely adored than she. Where Missella exuded an open and honest air of trust and warmth that endeared everyone to her, Alena found herself to be a bit awkward, often missing or misinterpreting a lot of social cues and unable to determine when certain social faces might be most appropriate. Anders and Missella (and occasionally Missella’s friend Jowan,) were decent enough to take the time to figure out her awkwardness and were most times not bothered by it, for which Alena was grateful. Karl had even once expressed that he considered her quirkiness to be “cute” one night after they and Anders had snuck into the Templars’ wine stores, which was one of the few times Alena had felt any sort of kinship to the older man.

Another of the perks of hanging out with Missella was the fact that the new templar recruit was usually not far away. He fancied her, of course. Even the cat could see that he fancied her. Alena supposed Missella liked him, too, though not nearly as much. It was unfortunate, really, because Alena thought Cullen was quite frankly dreamy as far as Circle pickings can go. He was by far in the top five best looking people she’d ever seen, though that isn’t saying much. The way he stumbled over his words when Missella was around was downright adorable. He was kind, too. A lot of the templars didn’t seem to like Alena very much, a dislike which she was unafraid to reciprocate. As such, the templars seemed colder to her than the other mages. She’d been no stranger to their rough treatment in her ten years. But Cullen didn’t seem too thrown off or even offended by her. She couldn’t say he liked her, but he was kind, and that was almost as good.

Alena had stayed up reading one night, the only person left in the library. It wasn’t allowed, really, to deviate from the schedule, but the thought of listening to Susana’s snoring just set her teeth on edge. At some point, Alena must’ve fallen asleep because she was awoken to a gentle hand on her arm and her name being whispered gently. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the candle had burnt out. She jumped up quickly, eyes wide with fright. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, no, please. Don’t worry.” It was Cullen, holding a candle of his own. He offered her a kind smile. “I’m not about to report anybody for being a diligent student.”

With a relieved sigh, she smiled back at him, a blush dusting her cheeks. “Thank you, ser.”

Cullen nodded but gestured toward the door. “You’d best be on your way to bed, then. It’s only two hours till the morning bell.”

She nodded, gave him another smile, and slipped quietly out of the library. As she laid in bed for the next two hours, all she could think about was the kindness in his eyes.

She’d told Anders about it when she snuck away to see him during lunch hour later that day. They sat on the floor, backs to each other through the bars, and she could feel his scoff when she’d finished. “I’d never have taken you for the type, Lennie.”

“How d’you mean?” She tilted her head back against his.

“I mean. You’re a _mage_. He’s a _templar._ That’s just about as cliché as it gets.”

She snorted, picking at her bread. “Well it’s not like I’m swimming in suitors over here. My options for romance are limited to: Cullen, that Wilma girl who never bathes, Orville but I caught him picking his nose the other day, and quite frankly, you. But you’re like… _so_ old. You’re what, twelve years older than me?”

“Thirteen.” He paused, then a teasing tone filled his voice. “I mean, you could do worse. I for one think I’d be an excellent husband.”

“Was that a proposal, Anders?”

“Sorry, should I have gotten down on one knee? I can fashion a ring out of my hair if you like.” She could feel him looking over his shoulder at her, and she knew his smile was just as big as hers was.

“Oh, Anders, you’re so romantic!” The two of them shared a good laugh over that before settling back down. “Besides, Cullen’s absolutely googly-eyed for Missella. I doubt he even knows my name.”

“You just said he said it when he woke you up.”

She paused, another blush dusting he cheeks as she realized he had. Maker’s breath. Cullen Rutherford knows her name.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

She cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Am not.”

The smile in his voice was evident. “You’re so smooth.” Then his tone took a serious turn, throwing her for a loop. “You know I’d take care of you, right?”

“What?”

She turned around so she was looking at him now, and he turned his head towards her, his voice lowered. “You’re like a sister to me, Lennie. Once I’m out of here, I’m gonna try again.” He reached for her hand through the bars and squeezed it. “I want you to come with me this time. I’ll take care of you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the jangling of keys in the hallway reached her ears. Their heads snapped towards the door, but by the time it had been shoved open, and the Templar carrying Anders’s lunch stepped into the room, Alena was gone.

The next few days came and went with little variation, per usual. The most eventful thing was Orville accidentally causing a minor explosion in the library while practicing his fire spells. Missella had taken to teasing Cullen about his infatuation with her whenever she was feeling brave enough, and she and Alena giggled over how flustered he tended to get.

The one benefit about being a social pariah in a prison full of people is that nobody really tends to notice you. Alena had managed to make quite a little life for herself as a rumorist, dropping all of the eaves on everybody nearly all the time. It was usually for nothing, just bitter whispers about someone stealing books or being gross, maybe the occasional pregnancy scare among risk takers. But sometimes, every few weeks or so, there will be a golden nugget of happenstance. It was these moments which Alena looked forward to the most. This week, there were two nuggets. The first was more personal, and the second was…intriguing.

Missella was up for her Harrowing, and the Circle was expecting a visitor.

The very word felt foreign in Alena’s mind. “Visitors” never come to the Circle. It’s only ever templars and mages, come to live the rest of their lives here, _maybe_ a mage with permission to leave the tower or a guest Chantry speaker. But never “visitors.” Missella waved off her ponderings, her guesses as to whom this visitor might be, focusing instead on the more pressing matter of her Harrowing. They’d both been witness to apprentices gone to their Harrowings never to return, and the fact that it was kept so tight a secret only added to her worries. After Alena had told her, she’d turned on her and asked how she could possibly know it was to come when nobody ever knew.

Rather than give her an answer, Alena gave her a sly smirk and tapped the side of her nose before darting off to her chores.

As it so happened, Missella’s worry had been for naught. She’d passed her Harrowing with flying colors, “one of the fastest Irving had ever been witness to.” Naturally, she’d tell no one of what it entailed, not even Alena or Jowan. All she’d had to say was that it was “unnerving.” It wasn’t difficult to see the vaguely haunted look she carried about her now, which lead her friends to avoid asking her too many questions, which it was obvious she appreciated. Along with Missella’s successful Harrowing came the long awaited “visitor.”

Alena had read about women, particularly young women having attractions to older men, usually as a result of having emotional issues in regards to their fathers, but she’d never really had reason to believe it was true. At least, not until she saw Duncan, because wow. He was a _ridiculously_ attractive older man. Unfortunately, Alena had no reason to approach him. The only reason she knew he was even here at all was because she’d escorted Missella to talk to Irving, an endeavor which afforded her to witness a particularly blush-inducing interaction between Missella and Cullen. As they left the blushing, blubbering templar, Alena gave him a slight wiggle of her fingers and a smile goodbye which only succeeded in turning him a deeper shade of pink. Alena waited outside of Irving’s office for Missella but also to listen in. This happened to be one of the rare occasions where she actually had reason to pull her notepad out of her robes to take notes. Grey Wardens? She’d heard of them before, read about a few of their exploits before, but if this Duncan was here for recruits, things must’ve been getting dire. This could be an opportunity for her and Anders to get out, right?

Alena waited in the rotunda for Missella to get back from escorting Duncan to his room, already itching to go sneak in to see Anders, but she wanted to see if Duncan had said anything more to Missella. As she waited, she observed Owain as he cleaned, wondering as she often did how his mind worked. She took a seat on an empty stock crate and idly wined a small amount of electricity through her fingers. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be cut off from her magic, from such a large part of herself. If Owain noticed her watching him, he made no attempt to remark on it, for which she was thankful. Though she was by far one of the kinder people towards the Tranquil apprentices in the tower, she was not immune to the discomfort they could imbue in others.

She was well lost in thought when she spotted Missella and Jowan cutting through the rotunda back towards Irving’s office and the chapel. Intrigued, and slightly hurt that they didn’t stop to collect her, she slipped off the crate and slinked after them. Alena watched as her friends went into the chapel and frowned in confusion—Missella was not one for religious activity outside of forced attendance. Part of her wondered if she shouldn’t leave well enough alone and just go about her business, but the way they were acting was too strange to pass up. Something was most definitely going on. So, with a mildly guilty conscience, Alena followed her friends. Once inside the chapel, she ducked low and crept along the back of the furthest pew to stand behind a pillar and listened in.

“…make me Tranquil.” Jowan? Tranquil? It made sense, given that he’d not yet had his Harrowing despite being here for ages. “…my love for Lily. All gone!”

“That sounds terrible,” came Missella’s gentle reply.

Alena frowned as she listened to Jowan’s terrified voice. “They’ll extinguish my humanity! I’ll just be a husk, breathing and existing but not truly living!”

“Why would they do this to you?”

“There’s a rumor about me. People think I’m a blood mage. They think that making me a circle mage will endanger everyone.” Alena raised an eyebrow at that. Despite her penchant for eavesdropping, she’d heard no such thing concerning Jowan. How she had managed to pick up on an imminent Harrowing but not the alleged presence of a blood mage was beyond her. Though, if she were honest with herself, Jowan did seem the type to turn to blood magic.

“It’s going to be all right.” Alena could almost see the soft smile on Missella’s face. Her voice was like a mother’s, gentle and calm.

“No, it won’t. they’re going to destroy me. I won’t put Lily through the pain of seeing me like that!”

“What are you going to do?”

“I need to escape!” Escape? A sly grin spread across Alena’s face. This could be the break she and Anders needed. “I need to destroy my phylactery. Without it they can’t track me down. I need your help, I can’t do this on my own.”

“Give us your word that you will help, and we will tell you what we intend.” Alena never did like Lily, and the tone in her voice was nothing less than off-putting. Nobody talked down to Missella, not even the templars (that’s just how nice she is,) but Lily seemed almost defensively haughty towards her. Alena could understand her need for caution, but she didn’t like the woman already.

Missella was quiet for a long moment, probably deep in thought before she finally relented. “You have my word, Lily.”

Alena stuck around long enough to listen to the plan and allow Missella to leave before her. With a glance to be sure that Jowan and Lily were…occupied, she slipped out of the room and hurried to Anders’s cell, her whole body abuzz with excitement. She didn’t have to make it far, because as she rounded the corner out of the (forbidden to her) third floor rotunda, she had to stop in her tracks and throw herself into the shadows. Three templars walked past, a rather exuberant looking Anders in tow, chains unshackled, and a wide grin spread across Alena’s face. He’d been released, then. Finally! It’d been a year since they’d thrown him in that cell, and both of them were beginning to wonder if he’d ever be released again. And what cosmically perfect timing, too!

She waited until the coast was clear to emerge and make her way back downstairs. It was difficult, keeping the knowing grin off her face as she made her way down to the apprentice sleeping quarters, though the quickness and lightness of her step was probably giving her away. She passed the templars who had escorted Anders to his quarters, and she took great care not to make eye contact with them or step in their path in case she had been seen on the third floor.

Her plan had been to burst into the male mages’ quarters and throw herself into Anders’s arms with a squeal, but that plan was dashed out the high window as she rounded the corner and ran smack dab into someone. Looking up and realizing it was Anders, the two of them stopped and grinned at each other for a moment before he scooped her up and hugged her tightly to him, the both of them laughing. As he set her back down on the ground, he gave her cheek a sweet kiss which made her blush. “I was beginning to think I’d die in that cell, especially after the incident with Mr. Wiggums.”

“I’m so glad they released you!”

“As am I, my dear. I am far too pretty to be cooped up so long.”

The two of them shared a laugh before Alena remembered her mission. With a sudden shift to the serious, she grabbed his hand and dragged him down to the basement. She gave the hallway a quick glance and made sure the door was firmly shut behind her before she took his hand in hers. “Anders, I have a plan.”

He raised an eyebrow at her but nodded, an encouragement to go on. She explained what she had overheard in the chapel, explained Jowan’s plan, and while she talked, Anders’s face grew more and more serious as he contemplated her words. When she finished, nearly out of breath for how quickly she’d spoken, he put a hand to his chin. “Jowan is far too clumsy and obvious to actually get away with this plan.”

“Yes, but Missella is not. And they’ll be down in the phylactery room. Anders, don’t you see? We can ask them to destroy our phylacteries, too, and then while the templars are busy trying to hunt down Jowan and Lily, we can use their distraction to slip away at the same time!”

A look of pain flashed across his face as he considered her words. He gently put his hand on her shoulder and sighed. “Alena,” her face fell at the use of her full name, “my phylactery is not stored in the basement. Once a mage passes their Harrowing, their phylactery is sent to Denerim. That’s why they keep finding me.” Noticing the disappointment in her face, he hugged her to him and put his head atop hers. “But yours is down there still.” His tone shifted towards almost confidence. “You’re right. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to waste. I may not have a guaranteed way out, but if we can persuade them to destroy your phylactery, you will be a free woman.”

She pulled back to look up at him with unshed tears in her eyes. “We’ll find yours, too. We’ll destroy it, and then we’ll be free together.”

She held her pinky out to him, but he hesitated for a moment, scanning her face. Finally, he linked his pinky with hers and nodded. “Together, then.”

They shared a moment, just looking at each other with adoring and bittersweet smiles before Anders glanced at the door. “We mustn’t be gone too long or else they’ll get suspicious. Come, we must prepare. We need to speak to Missella, and you must tell me how the guard rotations have been changed while I’ve been indisposed.”

Missella was reluctant to accept their request, but Jowan was more than willing once Anders had slipped him a pouch containing 50 copper coins. The plan would be set in motion soon, once Missella had acquired a rod of fire for them. Thankfully, Missella and Jowan both thought it as wise as Anders did that Anders and Alena not attempt to escape with them, though they weren’t told that Alena and Anders’s attempt would take place the same time as theirs. While safety in numbers is good and all, it was going to be hard enough to get Lily and Jowan out unnoticed, let alone with the tower’s number one jail bird and his sneaky little girlfriend. ( _“I’m_ not _his girlfriend, Jowan.”_ ) While those three plotted their escape, Alena and Anders began plotting theirs.

The attempt would be made the following night, giving everyone enough time to run through their plans once more. Once the time finally came, Alena found she had difficulty focusing on anything. Waiting around left her feeling helpless, unsure. She and Anders had been sitting in the library, the furthest section over, “studying” when they noticed Irving, Greagoir, and a team of Templars rushing towards the basement. So, it was just as Anders suspected. Jowan had been made. They looked at each other over the books they were pretending to read, and Alena flicked her ear back towards the commotion, listening. It sounded to her that the whole operation gone bust as soon as Jowan and the others got out of the basement. The other library goers had moved to peer through the door, spying on what was happening. Anders looked towards the doors that lead into the inner library and, upon seeing nobody watching them, nodded to her. She listened closer to the voices in the other room before nodding back at him, and they jumped into action.

Anders kept watch while Alena hurried to climb a ladder perched against the deepest shelf, and once she was atop it, pressed into the corner to avoid wandering eyes, Anders was quick to hurry up after her. They pulled the ladder up and leaned it against the wall, just a few feet too short to reach the high window. Alena steadied the ladder as Anders climbed quickly up it, casting glances over at the crowd to make sure nobody was watching. If Alena were a religious person, she might’ve thought the Maker was on their side because nobody heard when Anders broke the glass out of the two lowest panes owing to a raucous from the other room, and gasps and shrieks rose from the group of students watching what was unfolding. He pulled a rope fashioned from old discarded robes and bed sheets from underneath his cloak and tied it securely to the stone between the two glass-free windows before dropping it down to her. Meanwhile, Alena had lowered the ladder back down to the ground now that Anders had pulled himself to sitting atop the windowsill. She looked up at him with hesitation, but with a glance over her shoulder, she steeled herself and nodded before tying the rope about her waist and starting to climb. It was harder than she’d expected. A lifetime in the Circle afforded very little opportunity to hone any surmountable upper body strength, but she managed, Anders watching the crowd warily. It was awkward when Alena finally reached the top, because she’d had to press very close to Anders and slide across his body to squeeze through the window he sat in as the other was too small even for her. Once they were in position, they shared a breathless grin despite their extremely intimate proximity and looked down at the ground below.

It was far, too far for the rope to reach. They’d have to jump the last dozen feet and pray neither of them were injured too badly. Anders pulled the excess rope into his hands and wrapped it about his arm to pace Alena’s descent. She lowered herself down, moving quicker now, and tried to use the stones to leverage herself. Her foot slipped once, but she was proud to realize she hadn’t made a sound, and the adrenaline really kicked in. She looked up at Anders for encouragement when she reached the end of the rope, braced against the tower and holding on by the smallest of margins, and he gave her a gentle smile and a nod. She untied the rope about her waist with trembling hands, the pounding in her ears almost louder than the sound of the waves lapping harshly against the island.

Then she let go.

She awoke to Anders leaning over her, his hands on her face, waves of healing energy being sent through her. She blinked blearily up at him, part of her realizing the rope was being eaten by smokeless blue flames before she swatted weakly at his hands. “What happened?”

“You hit your head, Lennie. I was worried I’d lost you for a moment there. But we can’t dawdle. Can you walk?” With a weak nod from her, he helped her to her feet. She was light-headed, so she had to lean against him, but he didn’t complain. “Jowan will be making a break for it through the entrance if he evaded the templars. The templars keep their boats under heavy lock and key, so we’ll have to swim, and he’ll probably take the fastest way to shore which is to the east. That is why we’ll have to go west. The templars will be too focused on him to notice us going the opposite direction.”

Alena looked out at the vengeful water, violent and cold, and swallowed hard. It had been years since she’d been swimming. Even if she still could, she most certainly won’t have the stamina to make it all the way. Never mind the rumors she’d heard about the sorts of creatures that lurked in the dark waters. “I’m scared, Anders.”

He paused in his steps and turned to look at her. His hand gripped her arm as he smiled sadly at her. “I know, Lennie, but we’ve come too far to turn back now. It will be alright. I’ve got you.” Once he had her hesitant nod of confirmation, he turned and jogged a ways up ahead then ducked down and moved a large rock. Alena raised an eyebrow at the satchel and wooden board he pulled out. He gave her a smug look. “What? You didn’t honestly think I’ve done this seven times only to be left unprepared, did you? Come, we’ve got to hurry.” He led her to the edge of the island, tied the rope to himself and to the board, and tossed the board in the water. After tightening the satchel around his body, he cast a barrier spell around the two of them and took her hand. They shared a smile before they waded into the water, the barrier protecting them from most of the cold. Alena clung to the board while Anders swam ahead, dragging the board behind him while Alena awkwardly kicked.

It was difficult, but at no point in their aquatic journey did Alena see anybody following them. Perhaps they were still in the clear. It was quite possible with all their efforts to time this right that nobody had noticed them being gone yet. It was an unlikely possibility, but Alena credited herself as being an optimist.

By the time they had reached the shore nearly a full hour later, Anders was pale with exertion, and Alena could not feel many of her extremities. She wanted desperately to pause and take a quick break, get their land legs back, but Anders insisted they had no time. He dug around in his sack before producing two stamina potion vials and passed one to her. Together, they chugged the disgustingly sour liquid, and Alena had to fight the urge to spit it back out. It did help a bit, she was glad to say. She didn’t feel quite as tired as she had moments ago, least ways. Both their hands were like ice when he took hers in his, and he frowned as he noticed that hers were beginning to turn color. His face was intense as he focused a warming spell through her body from her palm. She nearly moaned from relief and was pleased to see the color returning to his cheeks as well. Slightly rejuvenated and with a renewed sense of excitement, they set off at a brisk walk south.

The plan was to stop at Redcliffe. Anders estimated that it would likely be nightfall before their absence had been discovered, and it would take at least a full day for the ravens to send word to Denerim for his phylactery. From then, it would be another week at least before the mage hunters had made it to this side of the country. This meant that, even though it would be painfully obvious that they would try to go see Alena’s parents, they had some time to spare. Not much, but she could perhaps see them for an hour or two before they had to move on. Since her hair was still colored brown, it would be unlikely that anybody would recognize her, especially after being gone for ten years. They stopped to make camp in the night, taking refuge in the forest. Anders hung sheets around their little clearing so he could light a fire and have nobody see them. They were still cold and hungry, but they’d done it. They’d gotten away. There was a real chance they had been truly successful here.

Alena barely slept from fear and excitement, but the little sleep she did get was thankfully too deep to have nightmares about being found. Anders watched over them while she was asleep, and she’d been surprisingly firm in her insistence that she take watch so he could sleep, too. He’d done so with heavy reluctance because he was after all the far superior mage in this relationship. She was talented, no doubt about it, but she’d never seen actual combat, and her arsenal of spells was meager at best whereas he’d had nearly 24 years’ history in the Circle and seven semi-successful escape attempts under his belt. To ease his mind, they put the fire out to avoid detection and huddled together under a sheet for warmth. He slept, barely more than half sleep, but it was better than nothing.

They broke camp still under the cover of darkness in the small hours in the morning. They’d made good time in their haste earlier that day and now only six hours remained in their journey. As they walked, Alena told him stories of her life, what little she remembered of it. She told him about the way her mother sang her to sleep, about her father’s impeccable whistling capabilities, about how the baker would “pay” her with cookies and tarts for running deliveries for him. Though she kept her voice upbeat and happy and a pleasant smile on her face, he could see the sadness in her eyes. He knew the feeling all too well, knowing about the lives mages missed out on in the Circle. He was worried for her, too. Her parents had both quit writing to her some time back, back when Karl was still around, but she’d never allowed herself to consider the very real probability that they were either dead or wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Part of him was thankful he never had to live with that wonder. He knew very clearly where he stood with his family, and he’d never allowed himself to hope that he might see them again, that he might be welcomed home. That bridge had burned brighter than the barn had.

The nearer they drew to Redcliffe, the quieter Alena got. She was scared, the telltale signs of doubt and worry written all over her face. Once they drew up over the hill and the windmill came into view, she stopped dead in her tracks. He stopped and looked at her with a gentle frown. “Len?”

Her fingers fiddled with the cuffs on her sleeves, unshed tears in her eyes. She looked out over the town before looking back at him, a quiver in her lips. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “What if they don’t want me?”

“Hey.” He had her in his arms in seconds. “No. Of course they want you.” He placed a warm kiss to her head and rocked her gently. “They’d be fools not to.”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. After a long moment, she took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Ok. Let’s do this." 


	2. The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Alena investigate her parents then set out again in hopes of reaching Denerim.

Though she was careful to keep her face free of the emotions running rampant through her, Anders could tell Alena was terrified. Every step she took seemed more difficult than the last despite the fact they were going downhill. As they grew nearer the interior of the village, he could practically feel the panic rising within her. They paused just before the last hill took them down, and he allowed her to drag him over to a water wheel, tucked away from prying eyes. “It’ll be difficult to get past the Chantry in these clothes,” she hissed.

Anders took a moment to appraise them before nodding. There was no way they could pass either set of robes off as being just fancy dress. Any Templar worth his salt would spot them a mile away. “You’re right. What do you suggest?”

She thought for a moment, her hand rubbing her arm. “There’s a house across the way. I obviously don’t know if anyone lives there anymore, but there’s a chance we might find clothes there. If we can’t…” She allowed herself another moment to think before nodding. “The hill by the house is steep as all get out, but we can slip down it and take the way behind the blacksmith’s.”

Anders nodded and gave her an encouraging smile. “Both very good ideas. Let’s head on then, shall we?” He allowed her to lead them across the bridge that led past the waterfall, and he had to wonder how it hadn’t rotted from water damage.

The house was a bust. No clothesline hung outside, and a quick glance in the window told them that someone was home. Safer to go unnoticed as long as possible, they decided not to risk the confrontation and instead set about getting down the hill. She was right—it was steep. It was difficult to leverage themselves against the gravity, the whole way down feeling more like falling than anything. Thankfully, the blacksmith had clothes set outside to dry, so they made quick work changing and stuffed their robes in Anders’s pack. Once Anders had finished changing, he glanced over at Alena and frowned when he noticed her forlorn look. “Lennie?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine… It’s just… They got rid of the chickens.” Anders raised a brow at her but didn’t say anything. She recovered from whatever reverie she was in and shook it off. “My house is just around there.” The slight tremor in her voice didn’t escape his notice, but she squared her shoulders, nonetheless. After sharing a steadying look with him, she nodded and started walking.

She wasn’t okay. It didn’t take a genius to see that she was terrified, scared of being rejected, of being thrown out, of being disowned. And Anders was scared for her. He’d realized that he’d grown complacent in his own security of knowledge. Even if his mother still loved him, he knew he’d never be welcome back in that home again. But Alena had a real chance here, a chance to find her family again, to be loved, and though it would be difficult relocating the three of them, she’d never be alone. _No,_ he scolded himself. She’d never be alone anyways because he would never abandon her. Looking at her now, at this girl whom he’d grown to love as his own sister, whom he’d seen grow up before his own eyes into this beautiful, mildly awkward but crazy kind woman, he imprinted it on his soul. He would not abandon Alena Fanelis.

She rounded a corner ahead of him and he let out a small “oof” as he bumped into her, now standing still as a statue. “Lennie?” Following her gaze, realization sunk in. There was a sign on the door upon which scribbly writing told them it was a general store, though obviously not meant in the market sense. The windows had long since been boarded up, even longer were the ones in the second story window. It had obviously been ages, years likely, since anybody had lived there. Her parents were gone, then. “Oh, no…” His hand went to his mouth to cover his surprise. “Lennie, I’m so—” His words were cut off by her hand. He watched as she walked across the way to a flowerpot and dug unceremoniously in the long-dead soil before pulling a key out. She wiped it on the front of her dress and hesitated outside the door, key poised. Anders moved to her side and gently placed his hand over hers. “I’m right here with you, Len.”

The look she gave him stabbed his heart, filled with such fear and uncertainty and utter _sorrow._ He couldn’t help but put his arm about her shoulders and give her a gentle squeeze. It seemed to do the trick because he felt her steel beneath his touch and, she opened the door.

Stored foods and barrels sat under heavy layers of dust within the building, obviously untouched for quite some time. Alena’s breath came out trembling, her fists clenched to whiteness by her side, but she pushed forward and around the corner, Anders following a respectful distance behind. At the top of the stairs was a cozy apartment. Old furniture sat under blankets and sheets that had long since turned yellow from disuse. Alena pushed deeper into the apartment, but Anders paused in what was obviously the living room and looked around. Three chairs sat around a table that stood underneath the only window. Against the far wall, an old and worn sofa was tucked in the corner, a rickety little bookshelf beside that. He walked over to it, pulled the sheet off, and squatted to investigate the books. A sad smile played at his lips as he read the titles, most of them children’s stories. He pulled one of the cheaper-looking ones out and turned to the first page, surprised to see that it was hand-written in a pretty, feminine scrawl. At the end of the book, there was a short little note that brought a lump to Anders’s throat. _“To my darling Alena. Remember that you are always loved. –Mother”._ He tucked the book into his pack and stood, clearing his throat.

The rest of the apartment was tinier than the living room, but it surprised him. Not many families had the luxury of having separate rooms for parents and children, let alone a family of elves, but evidently Alena’s family had found some way to manage. There was a thin hallway separating the living room from the bedrooms, the only decoration upon the walls a small, pink handprint. His fingers brushed over it, and he smiled to himself. He imagined a tiny Alena toddling about the apartment, imagined the light-hearted chastising of her mother after discovering the handprint before the two hugged and shared a laugh in some light-hearted moment of bonding.

Anders found Alena in her parents’ room, stood just a few steps inside the door. The tears hadn’t come yet, but they were not far if her hitched breathing was any indication. This was a simple room. A bed just barely big enough for two people was pushed in the corner, two thin pillows sitting at the head. To the side was a small end-table upon which sat a candle holder, though the candle had been burnt down to nearly nothing. A dresser sat at the foot of the bed, squat and meager. Alena walked over to a vanity pushed against the opposite wall of the bed and with trembling fingers pulled the sheet off it. A tear did fall then, betraying her as she collapsed onto the bench in front of it. Anders walked over and placed a gentle hand on her trembling shoulder. The vanity was the nicest thing he’d seen in the apartment just far—a beautiful mirror framed with an elegant design, the wood a warm, reddish color. Alena opened a small drawer from the middle and choked back a sob. Her hands trembled as she reached in and pulled out a silver hairbrush and a thick bundle of opened letters. She cradled the brush to her chest for a moment before shuffling through the letters, and Anders recognized her hasty, scribbly writing upon the letterheads.

“They’re all here,” she whispered. “Ten years of letters. All here.” Her voice cracked. Before Anders had a chance to say anything, she’d turned and buried her face into his stomach, her entire body wracked with sobs. Not knowing what else to do or say, he just put his arms gently about her and stroked her hair, letting her cry it out. She finally relaxed about half an hour later and cringed upon seeing the state of his shirt. “You’re all snotty now…”

He waved his hand dismissively and gave her a soft smile. “It’s not the end of the world.”

She shook her head and rose from her seat. “N-no. Here…” She crossed the room to the dresser and pulled the middle drawer open. She froze for a moment before opening the other two drawers and slamming them shut again.

“Lennie, really, it’s alright.”

Her fists clenched by her side. For a moment, Anders was afraid he’d insulted her somehow. “It’s all here.”

“What?”

“All their clothes… They’re all here… And the letters… And the brush… I didn’t want to it to be true but…” She swallowed hard and looked over at him with this look of just pure and utter devastation the likes of which he’d never before seen on her face. “Anders… I think…” It took her a moment to steel her voice again, to keep from breaking down. “I think my parents are…” The final word hung between them, thickening the air with such anguish for the longest of times. _Dead._ Anders, unable to see the pain in her eyes looked down at the floor and allowed her to process. They’d both known it was a possibility, especially given that the letters had ceased coming, but neither of them wanted to admit that that possibility truly existed. After a moment, she cleared her throat quietly, her voice barely audible to him. “Can I have a moment?”

“Of course, Len. As long as you need.” He didn’t bother trying to smile before he left the room. Their friendship was deep, but nothing he could say or do would help her now beyond allowing her her space. Curiosity got the better of him, and rather than return to the living room, he decided to go investigate what he assumed was her room.

He was surprised to notice firstly that it was dustier than the rest of the apartment. It must’ve been some time since her parents had disturbed the space before their passing. Overall, the room was slightly larger than her parents’. _Generous of them_ , he thought. Though he knew little of the Fanelis family, he’d gathered they were good people who loved their daughter. The bed was small, built for a child, sat squarely in the middle of the wall across from the door. She had two little night stands on either side of it, a lantern sat atop one, and atop the other, a stuffed toy nug. He walked over to it and picked it up, smiling down at its dopy little face with its mismatched ears. It was handmade with love, a few imperfections in the knitting technique used to make the skin. He imagined a tiny Alena sleeping soundly in this tiny bed, this little lovingly made toy tucked under her chin. He brushed his thumb across its face before tucking it into his satchel with a smile.

There were child’s drawings on the wall above a tiny little table which held a small stack of paper and quills. They were of the general genre of children’s drawings, bits of her family, butterflies and the like, none of them particularly good but cute, nonetheless. Over in the corner sat a toy chest painted pink like the handprint in the hallway. She must’ve helped paint it, then. He squatted down beside it and opened it, smiling to himself. Wooden horses, a hand-sewn dolly, some building blocks, and there, underneath it all, a violet baby blanket with her name stitched in a delicate yellow script. He pulled it out and admired it for a moment before putting it in his satchel alongside the nug and the book.

She had a closet, unlike her parents, but it had no door, and he couldn’t help the soft chuckle as he noticed her tiny little shoes and dresses. Again, the idea of a baby Alena toddling about the place came to mind, dressed in tiny, frilly dresses, but quickly the smile was wiped from his face, replaced by anger. She’d never be happy like that again. She’d never know the love of her parents again. Her father would never give her away at her wedding. She’d never have her mother beside her to help her give birth. She’d never get the chance to truly _know_ her parents. Never feel their loving embraces, never see their pride at her accomplishments. None of it. Because of the fucking Templars. Shaking the thought from his head, his eye caught sight of something poking out from the pillow on the bed, something he’d missed before. Curiously, he walked over and pulled the pillow back.

It was a letter, sealed, addressed to Alena. He narrowed his eyes at it, turning it about in his hands. It had obviously not been meant to be posted because there was no address upon it, nor a last name following the beautifully written _Alena._ Most families also tended to give up sealing the letters to their mage relatives when they realized the Templars would just read them anyways, but this one was sealed with a bit of wax. This could very well be the last letter her parents ever wrote to her. He should give it to her, let her read it. But was it too soon? Could she handle whatever it told her about their untimely demises? Not to mention, as much as he hated himself for thinking it, they’d spent too long here. He longed to give her the proper time to mourn, to say goodbye to the dream she’d held onto for the past ten years, but they needed to reach Lothering by daybreak to keep their distance from the Templars. He scowled to himself as he slipped the letter between the pages of the book written by her mother and glared down at it in his hands, at what could have been for her. _Fucking Templars._

“Anders?”

He crammed the book back in his sack and cleared his throat. “In here, Len.”

She appraised him for a moment and cast a forlorn look about the room before holding out a man’s tunic. “Here, put this on. It might be a little small. I imagine you’re a sight larger than my father.”

He took it gingerly and nodded. “Do you want to look around in here?”

She shook her head. “No. We don’t have the time.” She turned and left him alone to change. He heard her rummaging around in her parents’ room while he did, and he cast another cursory glance about the room. They met each other in the hallway. She was carrying a sack now, too, weighted down with her own treasures of choice. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

Anders let her go first, and when she paused in the doorway to the upper apartment, he gently placed his hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry, Alena.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped the tears from her face. “Let’s just… Let’s just go. Please.”

They slipped out as quietly as they’d come. They made sure to avoid eye contact with anybody and kept their heads tucked down until they’d made it to the top of the hill. Alena paused to look out over the town one last time, the wind whipping her hair about her face. Anders gently took her hand in his and gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. She looked up at him and gave him a small smile before her eyes went wide, looking past him. He spun on his heel, arm held out to shield her from whatever danger she saw. A few feet away, carrying a basket of wheat stood an older woman with graying hair.

“Oi! That’s my dress, that is! Wait a minute… Is that… Maker’s breath. Can it be little Alena Fanelis?” The woman’s eyes went wide as she took in the sight of them.

Alena gripped the back of his sleeve and cleared her throat. “I-I think you’re mistaken, ma’am. I know no one by that name.”

The woman glanced around and, upon seeing they were alone, stepped closer, her voice lowered. “You can’t fool me, girl. You’re…” She sighed sadly, voice softening. “You’re the spitting image of your mother, even with your hair that color.” Alena’s breath hitched. Anders cast a glance behind to her, his arm lowering slightly but still held in front of her. The woman’s voice was filled with pity as she said, “I suppose you know, then.”

“What happened to them, Maggie?” Alena whispered, voice wavering.

The woman, Maggie, evidently the blacksmith’s wife, set the basket down on the ground and sighed again. “It was a terrible thing, child. Your mother was never quite right after… Well, after you were taken.” She cast Anders a wary glance as if judging his right to hear this. Defiantly, he puffed his chest out a little bit and glanced back at Alena. The woman looked at them a moment, analyzing them before continuing. “Well, it was about four years ago. Your mother, Andraste preserve her, took ill you see, a bad infection in her chest. And without her working the shop, your father took up more work in the fields, even took up work at the tavern. Ran himself ragged, he did. He…” She took a deep breath and looked down at the ground, clasping her hands in front of her. “He was killed one night, about the middle of Solis. Man came in the tavern, tried to rob the place.” The veil around them was growing heavy as Alena’s sadness grew, making Anders a tad nervous. They were too close to the Chantry. If she were to lose it now… “We tried to take care of poor Adalle, after. I went and stayed with her for a while, tried to nurse her back to health but she just couldn’t. It was too much for her. She went in her sleep about a month later.” The woman let out a choked, dramatic sob.

Alena made no sound for a long moment. Anders glanced back at her, but her face was hidden behind his shoulder, her fingers gripping his sleeve with all her might. Finally, she let go of him and adjusted her pack on her back, the veil lightening slightly around them. “Thank you for telling me, Maggie.” She moved to leave, but the woman grabbed her hand. Instinctively, Anders threw his arm between them and towered over the woman, a fierce look on his face.

The woman scowled at him but did not release her. She softened her expression and turned a sympathetic frown to Alena. “I’m so sorry, child.”

Alena did not look at her, her face hidden in her hair. She pulled her arm from the woman’s grasp and walked ahead while Anders hung back. He glowered at the woman, doing his best to look large. “If you tell anyone we were here…” he hissed.

The woman scoffed and thrust a bony finger in his chest. “If you let anything happen to that girl…”

They looked at each other for a long moment before they both nodded and stepped apart. She moved to pick her basket back up while Anders jogged ahead to catch up to Alena.

They traveled south to avoid the road. They would use the cover of the Korcari Wilds to make their way up towards Lothering rather than risk the main road. They walked in silence for a long time, for several hours in fact. Anders itched to comfort her, to be there for her, but the urgency with which they had to move was too impending. He hated himself for it, for all of it. They never should’ve gone to Redcliffe in the first place. It was too risky, not just with the unknown fate of her parents in the balance but with the Templars so difficult to evade there. If the blacksmith’s wife went to the Redcliffe Templars, told them of the two apostates she’d found, evasion would be beyond difficult. They’d lose the nearly full day’s head start they’d had, and it would all have been for naught. Anders swallowed at the thought. If he were to be captured again, especially now that he’d helped another mage escape, he would bet all of his worldly possessions that the Chantry would ensure it would not happen again. If he were lucky, they’d just kill him. If he wasn’t…

As he pondered his inevitable fate, too deep in thought to be paying any attention to the road, he was shoved unceremoniously over a large bush. Before he could protest, Alena was kneeling beside him, her hand over his mouth, and they both froze. For ages they didn’t move, practically too scared to breathe until finally the clanking of boots stomped past them. Alena poked her head out of the brush and cast long glances down either direction of the road before she sighed in relief and released his mouth. Anders risked a glance and swallowed. “What was that?”

Alena frowned, her brows knit together. “I don’t know. Didn’t look like any creature I’d ever seen before.”

Anders frowned. “What d’you mean ‘creature?’ They were wearing boots. I heard them.”

She nodded and helped him stand. “Boots and armor. I don’t know, Anders. They didn’t look…alive. Like men but rotting and gross.” Her nose wrinkled at the thought.

“Well, let’s push on, then, before they come back. Come, we shouldn’t risk the road anymore.” He took her hand and guided her into the forest, away from the road. As they walked through the brush, Anders mentally skimmed every account of every creature he had stored away over the years. The only solution he had was Darkspawn, but they’d not gone that far south into the Wilds yet. Alena had said that the Grey Warden Duncan was talking of Ostagar, and though they had made remarkably good headway, they should still have been six or seven hours’ walk to that fortress. There shouldn’t be any Darkspawn this far north yet, not with the whole of the Grey Warden sect and King Cailan’s armies standing in the way. Perhaps a scouting troop, _maybe_ , or a rogue sect broken away from the main hoard. Anders didn’t like that possibility.  

“You’re going to get wrinkles.”

Her voice cut across him, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Sorry?”

Her knowing eyes were taking him in, scrutinizing him, turning him inside out with her analysis. “You’ve been frowning for the last three hours. You’re going to get wrinkles, old man.” The teasing tone in her voice was just a little too forced, but it brought a smile to his face, nonetheless.

“’Old man’? Lennie, you wound me.” He put a hand to his cheek in mock insult. “This beautiful face is nothing if not as youthful and vibrant as ever.”

The side of her mouth pulled up into a smile that lifted her ear. “My mistake. Seriously though, what’s up?”

He raised his brow at her and frowned. “I just wanted to give you some space. To process.”

Her eyes moved forward, the smile disappearing. Her steps slowed until she stopped, and Anders paused with her. She ran a hand through her hair before looking up at him, her ears flattening slightly. “I… I won’t say I’m fine, because I’m not. But…” She sighed and slipped into his arms, her hands snaking about his waist. He put a hand on her head and squeezed her gently. “When the letters stopped, I guess I knew.”

He shook his head and kissed her hair. “Even I had hope, Len.” At her hitched intake of breath, he stroked her hair back and kissed her forehead. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but I am here for you. I will always be here for you.”

She nodded into his chest. “I know.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she tensed in his arms, her head snapping to the left. “What is—” Anders’s question was cut off as Alena threw her weight into him, sending him back. She let out a cry, and when he regained his bearings, she was on the ground, her hand on her face. There was an unearthly screeching from the direction she had looked. Instinctively, Anders willed a barrier up around the two of them and put himself in front of Alena. He didn’t have long to look and make sure she was fine before six hulking masses burst through the brush. They stood tall, the taller three a good foot taller than himself. They matched Alena’s description from earlier, like men but dead, rotting.

The three tall ones were staring at him, sizing him up. They each carried a sword of some sort, the tallest one holding one as long as Alena is tall. Two were flanking them, arrows knocked in their bows and ready to fly while the third, a squat little guy hung back. Anders just barely had enough time to register that it was carrying a staff before the tallest one let out a screeching war cry and charged, the two smaller ones following suit. Anders cursed his lack of a staff and let out a growl as he did his best to summon a fire storm. It came out as more of a wall of fire that flew towards the warriors, but he’d take it. He started casting as quickly as he could, though all of his attacks were coming erratically, weaker than he could’ve achieved with a staff, and two of the warriors were back on their feet, the two archers loosing their arrows, the mage casting with far more efficiency than Anders could hope to match. “Alena! Alena, come on! We’ve got to go!” He tried to cast another fire storm, and again it just came as a wall, but he didn’t give it time to settle before he had spun around. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet, and they were running. Arrows flew past their heads, and mine glyphs were popping up along their path.

A quick glance over Anders’s shoulder told him what his ears already had—another group was on their tail, now, a good seven more on top of the four that had followed from his last attack. Alena was struggling to keep up, stumbling over too many obstacles. Blood was gushing down her face from where she’d been hit earlier, probably by an arrow if his extremely quick glance showed him the clean cut he thought he saw. It went from her right cheek up to the middle of her forehead. He cast a quick healing spell as he ran, part of it missing his mark but enough hitting her to at least stop the bleeding. She threw a spell over her shoulder and was met with a pained screech as one of the creatures fell. Her victory was short-lived, though, because as she her attention was on their pursuers, a fire mine materialized in her path. Anders didn’t have enough time to react before she stepped into it. Her hand was ripped from his as she was thrown away from him with a scream. Anders screamed in rage and threw pure magic back at their attackers with every ounce of strength of will he had. He didn’t pause to see what effect it had, if any, because he was running in the direction she was thrown. His eyes scanned the area, heart pounding in his ears. “ALENA!”

“Anders! Help!”

Anders’s stomach dropped as his eyes followed her voice to…nothingness. All he could make out was her thin hand clutching a thick tree root, the rest of her body lost over a cliff. He was running, then sliding on his knees to reach her. Her hand was slipping, and at the last moment, his hand wrapped around her wrist just as her hand slipped from the root. He breathed a sigh of relief as he looked down at her. “I gotcha, Len. I gotcha.”

Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him. “Don’t let go.”

He shook his head, clutching tighter to her. “Never.”

He wormed his way back from the edge, pulling her with him. Her head was over the ledge when her eyes went wide. As she shouted his name, he felt the hands upon his body.

The last thing Alena saw before she fell was the terror in Anders’s eyes as the Darkspawn pulled him out of her grasp.

Xxx

It was dark when she awoke. A frost had settled in around her, contrasting sharply with the heat from her head. She groaned as the throbbing came into focus, cutting sharply across her whole body. Her hand moved up to touch her wounds, taking stock. She’d hit her head hard, and at least one rib was broken. Though her healing magic was nowhere near as good as Anders’s, she tried her hand at casting a healing spell. She sighed slightly at the minor relief it gave her, but she felt drained. The thought of just staying right there, curling up and going to sleep, it was almost too good to pass up. _Anders._

Alena bolted upright and hissed at the pain that shot through her body. She ignored it, pushing it to the back of her mind as she scanned the surrounding area. Her pack lay a few feet away, the silver handle of her mother’s brush glinting in the moonlight. “Anders?” She looked about again, frowning when he did not answer her. It took her a few tries before she managed to push to her feet and stumble over to her pack. She was woozy, the dark world spinning in her vision, and her steps came heavily and uncoordinated. Once she had her pack gathered and securely on her back, Anders’s face flashed back through her mind. The fear, the desperation, the agony when her hand slipped from his. “Anders?” she called louder, tilting her head back to look at the cliff. It stood a good thirty, forty feet above her. The only reason she’d survived would appear to be the fact that halfway between the bottom where she stood and the ledge, a slight hill had broken out. In the moonlight, she could see where she rolled over a patch of elfroot. _Elfroot. Yes, that’s what I need._ She would gather the elfroot then she would go find Anders. _Maker let him be alright_.

It was slow going, scaling the hill. It was steeper than it had appeared, and with her degree of disorientation, she kept slipping. She finally reached the elfroot patch after several minutes of struggling, and she hurried to gather their pointed leaves. They were smooth in her hands, already soothing to the touch. She nearly moaned as she chewed a few of them, the relief flooding her, beginning to soften the pain in her injuries. Stuffing the remaining leaves in her pack for later, she glanced back up at the cliff to see if she could find a way to climb back up. After deciding that no, there was no way given her current status, she slid down the hill and set off to find a way back up.

The darkness was not her friend. The moon wasn’t full enough to give her much to go on under the canopy of the trees. It was difficult, but she found a way up that involved a climbing over rocks half as tall as she was. Compared to getting up the damned hill, finding where she’d fallen was easy. Lying a few feet away was a dead…thing. One of the things that had attacked them. She squatted beside it and studied it for a moment. It was short, thick with muscle, an ugly smile-like expression formed by disgusting teeth protruding despite its shut mouth. She shuddered at the sight of it and sneered. “Piece of scum.” Despite every instinct she had telling her it was a terrible, disgusting idea, she began to dig through its pockets. It didn’t have much, but it had a small vial of healing potion and a few coppers among its stuff, all of which she stuffed in her pack before pushing herself back to her feet. She managed to make it a few steps before tripping with a squeal over something, a stick of some sort. Grumbling, she sat back up and glowered at it before a slow grin spread across her face. A _staff._ She could’ve wept at her turn of fortune as she pulled it into her hands. It felt strange, made her feel strange, stronger, more powerful, more focused.

Renewed with the added focus from the staff, she set off, the staff kept securely in her hands at all times. If Anders were still… He would meet her in Lothering. He had to. He would.

Xxx

She’d gotten lost…quite a bit. What should’ve taken her only ‘til morning took her well into the late afternoon, and her hunger was beginning to get the better of her. She stowed the staff in a hiding place just outside the village, and was thankful she’d not used the road because as she passed it, she caught sight of a band of bandits that most certainly would’ve gotten the better of her. Her entire body was shaking by the time she stumbled into the tavern, and just as her knees gave out, she managed to collapse into a chair. A kind-looking woman with red hair wearing Chantry robes settled into the chair across from her. “You look positively awful,” she purred in an Orlesian accent.

Alena snorted as she leaned back in the chair. “I try.” If she weren’t so exhausted and hungry, she would’ve fled by now, but the woman seemed harmless enough. Well. Not harmless. There was an air of danger beneath the surprisingly kind smile.

The Chantry sister smiled at her and waved over a waitress. “Some food for my friend here.”

Alena’s eyes widened slightly, and she dug out the bag of coin from her pack. “I… I don’t have that much money,” she mumbled sheepishly.

The Chantry woman smiled and waved her hand. “It is on me.”

Alena quirked a brow at her. “Why? There’s plenty of other people here who look like they need it more than I do.” It was true. The tavern was fairly full of people who looked to be little more than refugees. Southerners, perhaps, fleeing from the Blight.

“Because you have a good story to tell, and it is far from over.”

“Is that so?”

The woman smirked and extended a hand. “My name is Leliana.”

Alena looked down at the pale hand and pondered it for a second before taking it. “Noelle.”

The raised brows she gave her told her that she wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t press for the truth. The waitress brought over a bowl of stew and a thick slice of bread. Leliana waited patiently as Alena tucked in, scrutinizing her like an insect. Once Alena’s hunger subsided enough for her manners to come back, she cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a human man around here, nearly 30, about a foot taller than me, blond hair in a ponytail, brown eyes, thin nose?”

Leliana frowned slightly as she thought. “No, I do not think so. Why?” A mischievous grin spread on her lips. “Is he your lover? Though, you do seem quite young. I would be remiss in my duties as a ley sister if I did not warn you about entering into relationships with older men.”

Alena frowned down at her stew. “No, nothing like that. He’s like my brother.” A tear slipped down her cheek before she realized she was going to cry. “He was taken by these… things.”

Leliana frowned and scooted closer. “I am sorry I joked. Why do you think he would be here?”

“Lothering was our next stop on our way to…” She glanced back up at the woman and cleared her throat. “On our travels.”

“I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She gave her a weak smile. “You’ve bought me a meal. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Leliana rolled her eyes but nodded. “I understand. You said you are low on coin, no? You should ask around town. There have been some people looking for someone to perform some tasks.”

“Is that so?” Alena leaned back in thoughtfulness before nodding. “Yes, I’ll ask around. Thank you, Leliana.” She stowed her bread and finished her stew in three thick mouthfuls before offering the woman a smile. Leliana just tipped her head and watched her go, a playful smile on her lips.

Alena went and retrieved her staff then asked around for tasks that needed doing. She was able to offer her elfroot leaves to an elderly woman asking for supplies, and as she was heading out into the fields to find more, she paused at the cage just outside the gate. She raised a brow at the man standing inside, a huge, imposing person who stood speaking some foreign language in a low voice. “Hello.”

“You are not one of my captors. I have nothing to say that would amuse you, Elf. Leave me in peace.”

She frowned, the tips of her ears burning slightly in a blush, but she nodded slightly. “I— Alright. If you insist.” She turned to leave but thought better of it and dug in her pack for the bread. “Here,” she grumbled, setting it upon one of the bars. “You look hungry.” She did not allow him the chance to say anything before she set off back on her quest again.

There was a small pack of wolves that she had to fight off, but otherwise she had little trouble gathering the rest of the herbs. As she passed back by the large man in the cage, she was pleased to see the bread had disappeared, though neither of them tried to make eye contact with the other. She brought them back to the woman who thanked her with great sincerity and a hefty purse. The bar owner was seeking someone who could brew poison, which Alena was hesitant to do, but which she ended up doing anyway. He had told her about a den of spiders near the river, but the prospect of fighting giant spiders, let alone a whole den of them on her own was too terrifying to contend with. She managed to find the toxin vials from the asshole merchant outside the Chantry and, after offering him a water skein and one of her father’s fine tunics she’d taken from her home, he agreed to lower the price to 50 coppers each which she was able to pay with the money from the old woman. The cost was a bit of a blow, but it was well covered by the payment received from the bar owner who also gave her one more free meal. This time, she saved the whole piece of bread and savored her stew, favoring it for over an hour.

Leliana sidled back up beside her and tilted her head at her. “Your stew has been cold for quite some time.”

Alena smiled slightly. “Just trying to stretch it out.”

“Are you still waiting on your friend?”

Alena nodded. “Yes.”

“You are worried.”

“Yes.”

Leliana leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Is this friend also an escaped mage?”

Alena nearly fell out of her chair but recovered nicely, clearing her throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “I saw you hiding your staff out in the field, and your hands are too soft.” Alena swallowed and stared down at her stew, appetite gone. “I will not tell, but I must warn you. There has been talk in the Chantry about three mages escaped from the Circle. Two of them managed to destroy their phylacteries, but the third has been sent for.” Her breath was coming quickly and shallowly as the panic began to rise within her. It had only been three days. It was too soon. “You seem a nice girl, Noelle. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

Alena cleared her throat and took a deep, steadying breath. “Does anyone else suspect?”

“No, not that I have noticed. There is too much going on with the refugees, but that will not last.” She reached over and settled her pale hand atop Alena’s. “Wherever your destination is, it would be wisest to set out as soon as you are able.”

“But my friend…” She couldn't leave. Lothering was a small enough place that Anders could find her easily, but if she pushed on without him, how could he find her? She'd heard stories of the size of Denerim. Any place that big would swallow her up. He'd never be able to find her. 

Leliana smiled gently. “The bartender is trustworthy. A good man. If you leave word with him to expect this friend of yours, perhaps he will find him.”

She sat there for a long time, considering.  _No. Safety first._ She would have to trust Anders. He'd been in the world before, knows how it works. He would find her no matter where she went. Finally, Alena nodded and stood to leave. “Thank you, Leliana.”

She smiled sadly up at her. “I pray the Maker will watch over you. And your friend.”

Alena made to leave, but she frowned slightly and turned back. “Leliana…”

“Yes?”

She leaned down and looked over at her. “You said three mages.”

“Yes. Though, I had heard it was two separate escapes. Yours and, I suspect, your friend’s, and another mage, a suspected maleficar.” _Jowan._ “It was quite the scandal, especially in the Chantry. The maleficar was aided by a Chantry sister, it seems.”

“Yes, Lily. But,” she cast a cursory glance about to make sure there was nobody eavesdropping. “There was another mage involved in the escape, Missella. Have you heard word of her?”

Leliana thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes, actually. There were whispers that she had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens. The Wardens and the royal army are preparing for battle at Ostagar.”

 _Missella’s alright._ Alena hadn’t thought they would hurt her. She was gifted beyond a doubt, and Irving had taken a special liking to her, but it was nice to know she hadn’t been imprisoned or turned Tranquil. Alena breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “Thank you again, Leliana.” She gave the woman the warmest smile she’d managed since leaving Redcliffe the day before then went to speak with the bartender. After obtaining his promise to keep an eye out for Anders and pass along that Alena had set off for their next destination, she did just that, and started on her way out of the little town of Lothering.

Xxx

Denerim was… huge. Alena had thought Redcliffe was a large place, but Denerim was mind-bogglingly giant. A passing merchant had spotted her along the road and, for the hefty sum of 90 silver (nearly all her money,) had allowed her passage to the town. She’d ditched her staff before coming in view of the city gates, and she’d rarely felt so exposed before. Few people paid her any mind, most of them too hurried to even glance at her, but the few looks she _was_ getting were making her uncomfortable. She wandered about for what felt like an eternity, sticking to public places and avoiding the shady-looking alleyways, until at last she reached a set of tall gates. A city guard stood outside, looking bored as all get out. She cleared her throat and inched over to him. “Excuse me, ser, what is this place?”

He scoffed at her and gestured for her to go inside. “Alienage. Where the elves live. Are you daft or something?”

She only nodded and moved to go inside. There was a heavy air in the place, people walking about wearing forlorn faces. Alena looked up towards the tall tree standing in the middle of a square and wandered over to it. She reached out to touch it, her fingers just barely brushing the bark when a man’s voice came from behind her. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

She squealed and spun around wide-eyed. “I-I’m sorry, I just—”

“Calm yourself, child.” The man smiled at her with kindness. “I mean only for your own well-being. Many residents here… well, they urinate on the vhenadhal.”

Alena’s nose crinkled at the thought, and quickly she stepped away from the tree. “I…see.”

The man was old, with white hair that was braided on both sides. He tilted his head at her, taking her in. “You’re a stranger here.”

“Y-yes. Um. I’m sorry. I-I’ll go—”

She made to leave, but the man stopped her with a hand. “Nonsense. You look tired, hungry. Have you any place to stay, child?”

Alena rubbed her arm subconsciously. “Um. N-No. I used nearly all my money getting here.”

He nodded knowingly and patted her arm gently. “Come. I know just the place.”

He walked ahead of her a ways, and for a moment she considered just walking back out of this alienage, but the lightness of her purse against her hip told her it would be stupid. She could maybe afford a hotel room for a single night, but then what? So, with no small degree of trepidation, she trailed along behind him. The place was desolate, obviously a center for impoverished souls. Most of the buildings were in some state of dilapidation or another, and there were some beggars scattered about.

They didn’t walk far from the square before the man stopped at a door and knocked. The door opened to a young, red-haired woman, aged somewhere between Alena and Anders. The elder elf smiled in greeting. “Good evening, Shianni. May we come in?”

The girl, Shianni, scanned Alena up and down before opening the door wider. “Of course, Elder.”

The Elder stepped into the house, and as Alena walked past Shianni, the two of them shared equally defensive looks. The house was small, quaint. At the table sat a man about Shianni’s age and not unattractive, and an older man who stood upon seeing them. “Valendrian. What brings you here?” He looked past him to Alena and smiled gently. “And who is your friend?”

The Elder looked over at her. “I’m afraid I neglected to ask.”

She wanted to shrink under the scrutiny. Shianni walked over to sit beside the younger man and stared her down. The man standing at the table cleared his throat and smiled wider. “Well, that’s no matter. My name is Cyrion. This is Shianni and Soris.” Soris wiggled his fingers at her and gave her a wide smile. “Please, join us. Shianni, would you be so kind as to get her some stew?”

Shianni looked as though she were going to protest, but after a pointed look from Cyrion, she relented. Alena hesitantly walked over to the table. Soris jumped up and moved to pull a chair out for her, into which she shyly slipped. Shianni put a bowl and a spoon in front of her while Soris poured her a glass of water. “Th-thank you.”

Valendrian cleared his throat. “Cyrion, may I speak with you?”

Cyrion nodded and moved back towards the door and began speaking in hushed whispers. Alena swallowed hard under Shianni’s harsh gaze and ate a few spoonfuls of stew. “So where do you come from?” Shianni folded her arms across her chest.

Alena’s ear flicked. “Um. Honnleath.” _These lies sure keep building up, Len._

Soris put his chin in his hand and smiled gently at her. “And you’ve come all this way? What for?”

He was endearing enough, open and warm. Something told her she was safe, despite Shianni’s careful watch which she supposed was just protectiveness over her family. “I wanted to get out before the Darkspawn got too far up. I’m meant to meet a friend here.”

“A friend? When? Where?” Shianni raised a brow at her.

Alena set her spoon down and slipped her hands into her lap, the urge to cry bubbling up within her. It took her a minute to beat it back down. “I don’t…know. We got separated on the road. Darkspawn…” She swallowed hard. “He was taken. But he’ll be here.” She nodded, an attempt to assure herself more than anything. “He’ll be here.”

Soris flattened his ears and frowned sympathetically at her. “I’m so sorry to hear that, you poor thing.”

Alena smiled weakly back before staring down at her stew. The two older men came back over, and Cyrion sat down beside her. “So. Am I correct in assuming you’ve nowhere to stay while you wait for this friend?”

“No. I’ve nothing and no one, ser.”

He shared a look with Shianni and Soris before reaching over and putting his hand on her arm with a warm smile. “Not anymore, child. You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you need.”

Alena frowned at him and glanced up at Valendrian who was hovering with his own smile. “Why? For all you lot know, I’m a deranged murderer, a con artist, a recently escaped maleficar.” _Well, not a maleficar at least._

Valendrian smiled and patted her shoulder. “You are young, child, and lost. If we do not help our young and our lost, what good are we?”

The thought was surprising to her. Her ears flattened back as a wave of emotion washed over her, tears stinging her eyes. Her voice waivered just the slightest as she whispered a meager, “thank you.”

“I will take my leave, Cyrion. Child, should you need anything, you may come to me.” Valendrian patted her shoulder one final time before starting on his way out the door.

“I’ll walk with you, Valendrian.” Cyrion followed him outside, leaving Alena once again under Shianni’s piercing gaze and Soris’s dopy smile.

Shianni glanced over at the boy and snorted. “Need I remind you of your betrothal, cousin?”

Soris blushed up to the tips of his ears and grumbled something under his breath. Alena smiled slightly at the interaction and looked back down at her stew. It had grown cold, but she managed to finish it. Soris took the bowl from her when she set her spoon back down, and she forced herself to meet Shianni’s scrutinizing gaze. “I’m sorry for the imposition, Shianni.”

The girl regarded her for a minute. “As long as you stay out of trouble, it’s fine.”

Alena nodded heartily. “Absolutely. No trouble from me.”

“Then perhaps you can tell us your name?”

Alena considered it for a long moment. She could lie, as she had with Leliana, but something about this family told her she would be safe, even if the whole truth came out. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “Alena.”

Soris beamed at her from across the room. “I’ve got a good feeling about you, Alena.”


End file.
